


commune // linger

by imperiality



Series: Hope . . Have (Works Inspired by Batmorphy) [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, But definitely the happiest fic of the bunch, Canon Compliant, F/M, Light Angst, No Plot/Plotless, Prose Poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 20:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13039230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperiality/pseuds/imperiality
Summary: Partings are hard- put off the dayKeith is sweet, but Allura is sweeter still





	commune // linger

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for waiting! I now deliver to you the 6th part of the series!!  
> And of course, [I'll leave this for you](https://batmorphy.tumblr.com/post/167795938569) for you guys to see the ref
> 
> Hope yall enjoy c:

Since her father’s parting, Allura has learned to be bitter towards greetings; they only mean goodbye. If there was a way for her to meet a soul and hold onto it until death do they part, she would do it. _She’ll fight to the death for the lack of parting words._

In the Blue Lion, she already is.

Goodbyes used to be the vitriol in her veins, a burden on her back. Who could deliver her out and away from her loss?

Keith makes goodbyes sweeter.

Yes, they part. Yes, he’s still with the Blades. Yes, the most that stays with her when they go on separate missions are the echos of his touch. The shivers from his whisper. They can be apart, but she can be okay.

They part.

But it is not the end.

The day brings separation from light and the horizon. The hush from sleep and the bustle of motion. The communing from Keith and Allura.

The evening binds them once again. The evening brings reflection. On the observation deck Allura and Keith paint out their time drawing in each other. (Allura will always bring color to Keith’s cheeks.) They rename constellations to mute the naming of their aches. They hold stars in their gaze for they cannot hold stars in their hands.

(Keith gets to hold Allura, so he quantifies it the same.)

Allura makes parting sweet for him, too. She knows that while he isn’t leashed to her, the tether is tight. He doesn’t let himself go far.

She knows he must.

So, every morning, she awakens with purpose. She eats breakfast, she ties her hair, zips her suit and waits for Keith.

Every morning, he throws himself out of bed with passion. He dwells in vengence, pulls his hood over his head and meets Allura.

Sometimes it’s a lingering palm to his cheek which warmth doesn’t leave until void negates it. Sometimes it’s a hug that Allura can’t press enough into. _Keith can’t hold enough on to._

Sometimes, Allura’s parting is so sweet she’s saccharine.

On an easy morning when dawning light was still bleeding, Allura is silent in her goodbye to Keith. He doesn’t dare taint it.

The Princess brings two fingers to her lips and kisses them softly.

_Keith can’t believe he’d ever be jealous of Allura, herself._

_Is this an Altea thing?_

Then brings them up to Keith’s while still hiding under his dark mask.

Oh!

The heat of Allura’s hand spills underneath his mask, but it’s not enough. Keith wants to burn. He _wants_ his lips to be where Allura’s fingers just were.

She’s already turned around, though. He’s left smoldering, waiting to be doused by a soft word or ignited by a hard kiss.

He receives neither.

She turns away, and that concludes that morning’s parting.

It is both fortunate and not that Allura doesn’t know how loudly she subconsciously begs her flames to be played with. (She doesn’t know just how quickly Keith would burn himself down for her own sake.) In any case, it wouldn’t matter. He’d have to fight for her permission.

He’ll fight so they’ll never have to get to that point.

All of Keith’s fighting makes Allura tired, even simply spectating. Every time he fights, he gives his all. All of his fervor, his ichor, his passion is surged into his battles.

When evening comes, Allura will grab his hands and they fight no more. In the evening, his passion is no less present but much more quiet. She holds on, she grips she clutches and wills the evening longer for herself.

Whatever it takes to stretch the nights longer and the days farther. 

Whatever it takes to put off another goodbye. For while ease comes with practice, desire drains with repetition.

What was that Earth quip Keith liked to recite to her? Ah yes. Quality over quantity. Just because she gets better at it doesn’t mean she wants to do them any more, she will make that very clear.

But another day must come. Another goodbye must haunt. 

Another parting will hurt.

_Not while she’s in Keith’s arm, it won’t! She won’t_ **_let it_ ** _!_

Not when they change out of their armor and get comfortable. With themselves. With each other. Not when Keith’s low voice greets Allura with a simple _hey_ , when she knows there’s always so much more to say. When there’s so much to be done, when there’s so much to fight. When there’s so many to meet, when there’s so much at stake. When there’s so much to distract them, she will filter and sift her pain down to the molecule.

She’ll let in only hello. She’ll let in only focus. She’ll let in only victory.

Victorious is the feeling when she’s wrapped in Keith’s arms. Victory is sharing her breath with his, sharing her heat with his. She wins every time she gets him to laugh or smile.

Keith isn’t defeated, though. Under Allura’s successes, he has nothing to lose.

As they fall asleep together, her wrapped in a grip so tight only comparable to Allura herself, there is gain so mundane. So gentle. So exquisite, Keith remembers to count his own breaths instead of hers.

He tucks every corner of his over every curve of hers. They fit around each other’s bodies and into each other’s dreams.

Together through the night they put off another morning.

Put off another hurt.

There’s… there’s actually quite a bit that hurts Keith. It hurt when he couldn’t hear a word or whisper for the better part of a year from Shiro. It hurt when Red rejected him, and still does. It hurts knowing how long and how much the Galra have stolen and tortured.

It hurts any time Allura is in pain.

It agonizes him that he might be the one to instigate.

On nights the castle felt particularly lonely, he’d offer his jacket to the Princess in thin cover of the pervasive emptiness.

For her safety, he’d give so much. (Has given to negative degrees.) He’ll give to her his passion. He can give to her his word. He’s given of his loyalty, his breath, his _body_ and his life.

What more can he give?

She’s not the only one with all his love.

She’s not the only one with all his devotion.

Can he give her security?

He can give her parts of him; he can give her every part of him, just short of being wholly withered. Wholly consumed. 

(He knows he still needs to be at least fractionally present to Defend.)

Keith gives Allura a memento.

He sheds his only jacket off his back to drape over her shoulders.

He gives and she keeps, but he’s not sure it was a smart move on either of their parts. Now whenever he shivers, he envisions Allura’s arms enveloping him instead. Whenever he thinks of that jacket itself, he doesn’t think of its place in his closet. He doesn’t think of anything or anyone but Allura wearing it.

Now when he thinks of his jacket, it's only ever wearing Allura for him.

Yet another goodbye.

It takes him back to that morning. To every morning before. He sees Allura’s tight face, tight hands. They wrap his jacket tighter around her. Her smile drags his heart lower.

He thinks of every time he has to turn away.

The first night he gave his jacket to the despondent woman, he said to her:

_The nights never come fast enough, Princess._

_What is this?_ she responded as the looked to her arms.

 _It’s for you._ Keith tentatively, gingerly, slowly lowered his fingers to her neck. _When the parting gets too bad._

 _I know this isn’t mine to keep._ Allura smiles. _But thank you._

 _I-_ Keith starts. He stops. Two other words almost trip out, but in their stead he says _you’re welcome._

Allura kisses his cheek.

_Thank you._

(She knows.)

Leaving each other became no less fun, but no more detrimental. A silent covenant of eternal returning was walked. (With only their own blood was it marked.)

The Princess looks more forward to mornings. Keith budgets time enough to _savor_ his food. 

The Princess stops stressing goodbyes. Days get easy. Much easier- _could it have been this way the whole time?_ She can’t help but feel like she'd been smoother the atmosphere all by herself.

She feels so much lighter now.

She’s laughing so much _more,_ now.

As a matter of fact, she’s feeling a bit giddy.

She feels almost ecstatic.

_She feels like having a bit of fun._

Which, naturally, means she must pick up the nearest goo bowl, thrust it up and yell

_Think fast!_

before shoving it all in Keith’s face.

And his reflexes ave always been great, amazing even but-

he couldn’t lift his spoon in time to dodge against her slimy ambush. As he blinks the goo from his eyes, he lowers it still. (He lowers his hackles in quicker time.)  Keith wipes the green from his face, revealing his creeping grin.

It reeks of trickiness.

It oozes of victory.

He picks up his own bowl, and empties its contents on Allura’s regal head.

He joins in her ecstasy.

As far as separations go, he’ll be sad most of all to part with this very moment.

_(Which is why he indulges the high all the much more.)_

**Author's Note:**

> The next piece I want to work on for this... it's. It's going to be good. I'm planning some Good Stuff. And by Good Stuff I mean Angst Stuff. That should always be the assumed consensus :)
> 
> If you'd like to tell me your angst thoughts, [ please tell me!](https://chickadeecrowns.tumblr.com)
> 
> ((Betas coming later and all that :) ))


End file.
